Bad Dreams
by musician95
Summary: Nightmare or bitter reality? Only you can tell, Queen B. - A one-shot taking place when Blair finds Chuck in her room after his father's death.


I'm not stupid, and I've never been much of a naive person. So when I found Chuck Bass sitting in my room like a picture of misery, part of me must've known all along that he wouldn't stay. No matter what I did – and what more could I do than confess my love to him, which I'd already done by this point – it was sure as hell that he would leave as soon as he realized where he was, and who was with him.

I was angry at him, anyway. But I can't deny that I've been thinking of him all afternoon, during the whole wedding ceremony, and I've been crazy worried. Since Bart's death, I get why my mother and Cyrus wanted to get married so badly. And honestly, if Chuck and I had just figured it out earlier, maybe we would've been a couple by the time the accident happened and I could've comforted him the way I wanted to, the way he needed but would never admit.

So in the end, Bart's death changed my mind about Chuck and me: I know we can be together. In fact, I really _want _us to. And the moment I saw Chuck sitting on my bed, I thought he must feel the same way.

Of course, there was that intense urge to yell at him at first. I'm still Blair Waldorf, after all, and you don't just dump Blair Waldorf after she put all her strength together to confess her love to you.

But then, as Chuck turned his head and there was something glistening in his eyes that looked suspiciously like tears, real tears – I just couldn't do it. I couldn't throw him out, or yell at him, or do anything except taking care of him.

It all seemed so unreal, so irrational to me. This wasn't the Chuck Bass I knew, but nevertheless, it was the right person. With his face full of vulnerability, he seemed even more like the Chuck I'd grown to love.

We didn't talk, though. We didn't talk at all. I just held him in my arms as long as necessary, as long as possible, until we fell asleep. There were a thousand things I wanted to tell him: How good all of this felt, how right; how sorry I was for his loss and how I wanted things to stay that way between us, as badly as I've ever wanted anything in my life. But instead, I closed my eyes and remained still, concentrating on Chuck's rhythmic breathing and trying to ignore the voice in my head that kept repeating: _He won't stay. He'll leave you. He'll be long gone when you wake up._

I didn't want to believe it, even though I knew deep inside that it was true. As I said, I'm not stupid and very far from naïve. I just had the forceful wish that he'd stay, and I hoped that might be enough. Of course, it wasn't.

I can only imagine where he is now. Probably back in his suite, a glass of whisky in his hand, his face back to stone. I can only imagine the way he felt when he woke up and looked at me, when he realized what he had done and was ashamed of it. I can see him looking at me in disgust, as if I was the incarnation of his own weakness.

They say that love is weakness, and for him, it is. I wonder if there's a way to show him that he's not weak.

I know Chuck Bass. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father has been blaming him silently ever since. Chuck himself took the blame for his mother's death. And now Bart's gone too, and in some totally confusing way, this must be both a blessing and a curse for Chuck. Even if he never had the parents he deserved to have, and even though he might be the richest kid in New York with his father's heritage, he is also an orphan now. No matter how rich he became through his father's death, there'll always be something poor about him.

Dorota's knocking at the door, trying to bring me breakfast for the hundredth time this morning, but I don't feel hungry. I send her away, staring out into the dull morning light. The sky's grey, and for a moment I have that completely irrational thought that it looks like the sun will never shine again. All the buildings, the streets, even the people; all of New York looks grey this morning. As grey as Chuck's face yesterday.

I read his note again, but the words he wrote don't change. They say that I deserve better. As for me, he might as well have written: _Nice performance last night, B._

It doesn't matter, and I try my best not to care. He's gone. Whether I told him I love him or not, whether I _do _love him – none of it matters now. He chose to leave, and I bet he won't come back.

I certainly won't go after him, that's for sure. I know this is not the same as last summer, when he dumped me on the airport, but I feel a little bit like I'm standing there again, knowing that it's never gonna work out, that he's not coming, and yet still hoping for the impossible.

The knocking on the door gets louder. "Dorota!" I call out, but my voice sounds like a sleepy whisper. The picture of me standing at the airport starts to dissolve in front of my closed eyelids, and everything's dark again. As dark as if I was still sleeping.

"Miss Eleanor wants to know if you're okay, Miss Blair", Dorota explains hesitantly, her words muted by the thick wooden door. "Is everything all right in there?"

I'm confused. I sit up a bit too abruptly, and the room starts spinning, a blur of more greys and blacks and whites. "Everything's fine!" I answer quickly. As Dorota's steps begin to fade, I squint a few times and take a look around the room.

That's when I hear him, see him, my heart doing a double take, all at the same time.

He's here, alive, breathing, sleeping like a baby, right next to me. Chuck. He's lying in my bed, and I'm not dreaming anymore, and I understand that his being gone was just a nightmare, the thing I feared the most taking control over my dreams.

I look at him, and as I do, he starts blinking. Then he opens his eyes and looks right back at me, his face troubled, but still smiling. Smiling, even though his father's in grave for only two days. Smiling, because of me.

He doesn't have to say it. I know he wants to, and I know he's thinking it right now, but I already got my confirmation: He's still here. That's all I need.

So I repeat, in a hush, what I just told Dorota, almost as if she was still standing outside the door, knowing now that my words are true: "Everything's fine."

And to Chuck, I add: "It will be, I promise."

He keeps staring at me, his eyes all brown and warmth and everything nice. "It already is", he says.


End file.
